“I—­I think so too, Peter,” said Lady Mary.

Her thoughts wandered momentarily into the past; but his eager tones recalled her attention.

“Then you won’t mind, so far?” said Peter, anxiously.

“I—­why should I mind?” said Lady Mary, starting.  “I believe—­I have read—­that old French furniture is all the rage now.”  Then she bethought herself, and uttered a faint laugh.  “But I’m afraid your aunts might make it a little uncomfortable for her, if she—­tried to alter anything.  I—­go my own way now, and don’t mind—­but a young bride—­does not always like to be found fault with.  She might find that relations-in-law are sometimes—­a little trying.”  Lady Mary felt, as she spoke these words, that she was somehow opening a way for herself as well as for Peter.  She wondered, with a beating heart, whether the moment had come in which she ought to tell him—­

“That’s just it,” said Peter’s voice, breaking in on her thoughts.  “That’s just what Sarah means, and what I was trying to lead up to; only I’m no diplomatist.  But that’s one of the greatest objections she has to marrying me, quite apart from disappointing her aunt.  I can’t blame Lady Tintern,” said Peter, with a new and strange humility, “for not thinking me good enough for Sarah; and that’s not a difficulty I can ever hope to remove.  Sarah is the one to decide that point.  But about relations-in-law—­it’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time.”  He cleared his throat, which had grown dry and husky.  “She says that when she marries she—­she intends to have her house to herself.”

There was a pause.

“I see,” said Lady Mary.

She was silent; not, as Peter thought, with mortification; but because she could not make up her mind what words to choose, in which to tell him that it was freedom and happiness he was thus offering her with both hands; and not, as he thought, loneliness and disappointment.

Twice she essayed to speak, and failed through sheer embarrassment.  The second time Peter lifted her hand to his lips.  She felt through all her consciousness the shy remorse which prompted that rare caress.

“The—­the Dower House,” faltered Peter, “is only a few yards away.”

A sudden desire to laugh aloud seized Lady Mary.  His former words returned upon her memory.

“It’s—­it’s rather damp, isn’t it?” she said, in a shaking voice.

He looked into her face, and did not understand the brightness of the smile that was shining through her tears.

“But it’s very picturesque,” said Peter, “and—­and roomy.  You and my aunts would be quite snug there; and it could be very prettily decorated, Sarah says.”

“Perhaps Sarah would advise us on the subject?” said Lady Mary, unable to resist this thrust.

“I’m sure she’d be delighted,” said Peter, simply.

Lady Mary fell back on her cushions and laughed helplessly, almost hysterically.